Sherlock Holmes' Childhood Wish
by LizeM
Summary: Could Sherlock's childhood compositions make him realize something about his only friend?


**[Sherlock Holmes' childhood wish]**

.-. .-. .-. .-.

_ ~ ~ September 14th_

_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,_

_-we are writing to inform You that December 31__st__ of the present year will be the last possible date for the acquisition of the compositions, tests, and class-works you have produced during your stay in our institute. Should we not be instructed differently by you, your material in our possession shall be destroyed._

_Thank You for your kind attention,_

_XXXX Elementary School._

_.-. .-._

_ ~ ~ September 16th_

_XXXX Elementary School,_

_-send me ALL the files._

_Be quick._

_Sherlock Holmes_

.-. .-. .-. .-.

_ ~ ~ October 1st_

Mrs. Hudson painfully made her way up the stairs of 221B Baker Street. _Her hip must be getting worse_ - thought Sherlock- still typing down some incredibly interesting information about the 137 types of pipe present in late 19th century England. Maybe his readers didn't enjoy the tobacco ashes cataloguing but they couldn't possibly resist this, he was sure. A smirk of satisfaction crossed his face as he finally closed the 'types of wood used in the manufacture of pipes in the late 19th century –part one' digression.

"Sherlock, dear!" came a strained voice from the consulting detective's right "There's something for you…." she said holding a brown package "where am I supposed to put it?" asked she in a shocked voice "look at the mess you boys live in! No place left for anything!" She pointed out and began (apparently unwillingly driven by some unknown forces) to tidy the room up.

"You two do know I'm not your maid…" -a pair of bananas thrown away, Sherlock's scarf perfectly placed on top of his coat- "I even have to get your mail up and down the stairs, and you know about my hip!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. If I had known…" began John, lost with his head inside a newspaper and clearly not even paying attention to himself.

"You wouldn't have done anything, that's what you'd have done! Sherlock here is having a very bad influence on you!" Sherlock smiled. Either he had got a good comment on his site, or something else had please him. "I had to stop what I had been doing and get the door! Poor Tim delivered the mail today… I used to know his mother, you know… She killed herself last year: said her children ruined her life." the woman blinked looking at the ceiling as if remembering something "… oh, poor Tim! He said your package is probably papers, Sherlock. Apparently, Monday is 'paper day'… poor Tim, he's always so kind!"

Sherlock moved his eyes from the lighted screen of his laptop for the very first time that morning. A smirk on his lips, a sparkle in his eyes, and a thrill in his voice "What did you say?"

"I know: it's dreadful, isn't it" the lady put a hand on her heart "he'll always feel responsible for the death of his mother… well he and his seven siblings, I guess."

"'Paper day', is it? Very well!" Sherlock's mind had already flown forwards to contents of the package. He jumped off his chair and stole the object form under Mrs. Hudson's arm. She didn't seem to notice, nor did she care.

"That must be terrible for a family to go through- " she went on, still looking up. There certainly had to be paintings of 'poor Tim' 's family on the ceiling.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson. You're invaluable as always. Now, please leave." the package had already been half-thrown apart.

"- you're insufferable, Sherlock Holmes!" she said angrily, heading over to the door "After what I do for you every day!" she stormed out of the room but the door didn't slam shut before John's casual "Remember the meatloaf for lunch" had reached her ears.

.-. .-. .-. .-.

"The call this 'quick'" complained Sherlock, more to himself than anyone else as he went through the papers.

Some useless –and very badly done- test about science and math... For some reason, he had always been better when asked questions orally: somehow he could tell what the teacher wanted to hear… Long sheets of analyzed poems where immediately thrown away along with history papers. Geography, French, religions, facts and figures were all useless. Not what he was looking for.

Finally, a big pile of compositions caught his attention. Just what he wanted. Remembering how smart he used to be –even as a child- was certainly going to help his ego during this time of boredom and lack of cases.

"What's in the package?" John finally asked, absent-mindedly. He didn't get an answer, and soon forgot about waiting for one.

The first file read: _What I wish for the most_. Interesting.

"Sherlock, will you pass me a pen?" poor John, still hoping for a miracle after years. As far as Sherlock was concerned, every pen in the house was staying exactly where it was. He had much better things to do.

Sherlock started reading what was –he was sure- a remarkable work for a seven-year-old with a stunning hand-writing.

_London, 23rd March 1983_

_Holmes Sherlock_

_What I wish for the most_

_What I wish for the most is to have a dog. Not a **dog** dog, a man-dog. He would be like a man, behaving like a dog. I'm going to explain now because I'm sure you didn't understand, Mss. Bowl. _

_There are many reasons why a dog wouldn't be ok. **1**- dogs can't talk **2**-you can't bring a dog everywhere you go **3**-dogs can't take care of your business if you don't feel like it._

_Of course, a normal man would not be acceptable. Here is why. **1**-most people are annoying and stupid **2**- people don't trust you (and **I** don't trust people) **3**- I don't like people._

_My man-dog would have all the best things dogs have, and would do all the good things men do (even though they are not many). And this is why my man-dog would be the perfect companion. _

_A man-dog is always loyal -like a dog, and you can talk to him like to a man. He would do anything for you, because he would trust you… of course I would thank him for this by taking him to very long, exiting and adventurous walks. We would go anywhere together, even on the ship. And all the other pirates would envy me because they'd understand how important it is to have a man-dog in times of need._

_I know what you will say, Mss. Bowl: you think what I wish for is a friend. Well, you're wrong. My big brother always says friends are useless and you end up feeling these 'emotions' for them, and that is bad. _

_Well, I think I would feel emotions for my man-dog… but it's my man-dog, so it's ok. Besides, even **you** should know that, Mss. Bowl: there's no such a perfect friend as this._

.-. .-. .-. .-.

Sherlock ignored all the red signs on the paper and the teacher's complaints. Looking up he saw him: the living proof of how wrong he had been as a seven-year-old.

Slowly, very slowly, he got up from his chair and headed towards his flatmate. He stopped right in front on the armchair he was sitting in and waited for John to lower his newspaper.

Several seconds later, as he did, Sherlock Holmes did something neither of them could have ever imagined in their wildest dreams. Reaching inside his dressing-gown pocket he drew a pen - _his _pen, and handed it to a very much shocked John.

With darkened eyes and a serious look on his face, Sherlock said in his deep voice "Thank you, John." then turned around, and sat back on his chair.

A puzzled and worried John was left wondering what Sherlock had thanked him for. His friend's pen still sat in his stretched out hand… he had even forgot about asking for one.

Truth was, for Sherlock Holmes John Watson was much more that a man-dog, much more than anything he could have ever wished for.

He was his friend. A perfect one.

.-. .-. .-. .-.

_**I have NO idea how I came up with this =) Let me know if you liked it.**_

_**Lize**_

_**p.s.: Maybe comparing John to a being halfway between a dog and a man is a bit of a strong image but, you know… it's still seven-year-old Sherlock's imagination.**_


End file.
